


Congratulations...I Suppose

by escspace



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Flashback Era, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escspace/pseuds/escspace
Summary: As usual, Ragar meets with his friend for a spar, but Frankenstein has something new to show him this time.
Relationships: Cadis Etrama di Raizel/Frankenstein (Noblesse), Frankenstein (Noblesse)/Ragar Kertia, Frankenstein/Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama Di Raizel, Ragar Kertia/Cadis Etrama di Raizel
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	Congratulations...I Suppose

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Severely Questionable Influence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995294) by [Queen_of_the_Ruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_the_Ruckus/pseuds/Queen_of_the_Ruckus). 



In a remote, shadowed corner of the woods, the shape of the House of the Noblesse fills his vision. The shadows and trees part for him as he strides forward. Tucked in his hand is a small vial, bright red with blood.

When Ragar knocks on the door, no one answers, and so he deigns to push them in himself and step inside. His swift feet take him to the room that Sir Raizel and Frankenstein are commonly found in. His heart beats unusually loudly in his chest, his blood rising with his nerves at every step as he nears the room. He stands before the shut doors.

_"Yes, Master."_

The atmosphere is heavy with Raizel and Frankenstein, becoming tangled in each other for the first time, soul into soul. Ragar does not need to open the doors to know what has happened.

He looks down at the meagre offering of blood in his hand, now feeling rather foolish. And then, silently, he turns and slips away.

When Frankenstein opens the door, peering around curiously for guests, no one is there.

* * *

The sun warms his face and casts speckled shadows onto the earth. Once again, Ragar finds himself approaching the Noblesse's manor, a place he visits with uniquely high frequency since he and Frankenstein had begun polishing their skills in combat together. By now, he knows that Frankenstein knows to expect him on a biweekly basis, leaving just enough time between spars for both of them to recover from their friendly wounds. When he knocks on the door, he does not have to wait very long for Frankenstein to greet him, as Frankenstein also knows to expect him at around noon, just in time for tea with Sir Raizel.

Ragar is honored each and every time he sits across from his Noblesse to also enjoy Frankenstein's selection of skillfully prepared sweets and drinks. This has become a regular sort of ritual, to the point where there would already be two cups set out on the table before Ragar has even set foot on the manor's grounds.

However, Sir Raizel's reservedness is steadfast, and Ragar is not oblivious to the fact that he visits more often than is entirely necessary. His own politeness makes him wonder if he could possibly be a bother to the peaceful, private lives of the two residents here. "As always, I am grateful to be in your presence and to be welcomed into your home so hospitably." Ragar tips his mask down to sip at the generously prepared tea. "But I continue to hope that I am no intrusion upon your lives here."

A snide smile passes over Frankenstein's face. "I'm surprised you don't just live here given how much you pester—"

Frankenstein is gently silenced with a measured look from Raizel. "You are continually welcomed here, Ragar." Subtly, Raizel smiles, eyes slipping with secrecy from Ragar to Frankenstein and then back to Ragar. "Both Frankenstein and I appreciate your company." He gracefully lifts his cup. "Am I not correct, Frankenstein?"

"You are correct, Master," Frankenstein concurs, effectively tamed for the time being, but he does not shy from throwing Ragar a challenging, ire-laden smirk, an expression Ragar is used to receiving from him by now. He takes no offense to such things, as it is simply in Frankenstein's naturally heated, belligerent blood.

After several minutes of mutual peace, their attention is called to another, stray guest: Gejutel stands tall and immoveable in the doorway, having boldly stepped inside of his own volition.

He bows to Raizel. "My apologies for interrupting your social gathering," Gejutel begins formally. "But the Lord has requested Frankenstein's presence."

"What could he want with me now?" Frankenstein looks back at Raizel and Ragar and sighs. "If he's only asking for me, then please—Master, Ragar—enjoy your afternoon tea. I will go see what this is about and return shortly." He bows to his master and then steps away with Gejutel. Their journey down the hall is accompanied by Frankenstein's distant muttering of, "This better not be a waste of time...That old bugger..."

Left with only Raizel and Ragar, the energy of the room dips into sleepy serenity.

Noticing the drought in Raizel's cup, Ragar reaches forward to pour more tea for his liege. "I wonder what it is the Lord wants of Frankenstein. He had not indicated a desire for a summons the last time I was with him."

Raizel nods and takes his tea cup with graciousness. "Perhaps Frankenstein will inform us when he returns."

Ragar tips his head in agreement. Then, shedding some of his formality, he continues conversation: "Sir Raizel, you have been bonded with Frankenstein for a few weeks now...I would like to extend my congratulations." He tugs his mask. "It must be...wonderful."

The tea cup in Raizel's hand pauses for a second before being raised to his lips. The porcelain obscures part of his expression but does not hide the slight blush that rises just below his eyes. "It is unlike anything I have previously experienced." A weighted sip and then Raizel lowers his tea. "But that is expected, as Frankenstein makes it a habit to show me new things."

"Hm." Ragar nods. Silence accompanies them for a while.

Perhaps it is a slight dip in his posture or a far away look in his eyes; Ragar is not sure, but something about him prompts Raizel to extend comforting conversation which Ragar knows takes conscious effort from Raizel. "Ragar, does it disappoint you that Frankenstein is bonded to me?"

His eyes go wide. His fingers fly to his mask. "No—" He feels as if Raizel has sliced him clean open and is picking apart his unsightly insides—gorey entrails and all that is ugly. "No, I can only be happy for you both."

"It is all right to be disappointed."

Ragar swallows, bringing his tea cup to his face. He lowers his gaze, almost apologetically. "Sir Raizel, you are kind and honorable. If Frankenstein enters a contract with anyone, I am glad it is with you. Likewise, I do not think there is another like him that you can bond with. It is fortunate that you have found each other." The tea cup clinks as he sets it down and picks up a small plate with a single cake, mostly for the sake of occupying his hands. "I am honored, always, to be so readily welcomed into your company."

Raizel watches Ragar with the weight of the world in his eyes, gaze soft and encompassing. Ragar feels as though his physical form has melted away and that his very soul is bare before the Noblesse. Raizel looks at him as if he knows him even more than Ragar knows himself. But such a thing is no surprise. Ragar bows his head in easy deference, allowing his soul to be judged.

A long moment of silence passes, and it feels almost sacred. What goes unspoken is immense.

Then, the atmosphere returns again to one of casual, mundane companionship, sweet tea and cakes between them, waiting to be indulged in.

Raizel takes the liberty of speaking again. "You prove your virtue in silence." He takes a plate of cake for himself. "Thank you, Ragar, for being a friend." Raizel smiles one of his rare, precious smiles, and when it is wholly directed at Ragar, something entirely warm and humbling stirs within him.

Ragar cannot help but pull at his mask, finding no new words to offer Raizel. His silence is gracious.

* * *

By the time Frankenstein returns, all except one of the cakes have been consumed and the teapot is empty and cold. "As I expected, a waste of time," he reports as he shuts the door behind him. "The Lord was disheartened to see that you had not accompanied me, Master, as he wished to congratulate the both of us for the contract." He clicks his tongue. "A summons just for that."

"I have already received my share of congratulations." Raizel nods. "From Ragar."

Frankenstein raises his eyebrows and gives Ragar an assessing stare before noticing the empty state of cups and plates. “Well then, seeing as tea is rather finished, I suppose that our arrangement is the usual, Ragar?”

Ragar nods and stands from his seat. “As always, thank you—Sir Raizel, Frankenstein—for your company.” His head dips into a bow before he steps towards the door.

“Then—“ Frankenstein's arm crosses his body as he sweeps low into his own bow, and they depart.

* * *

The earth in their little clearing of forest is marked by old, deep scars: wide gashes and cracked rubble. Trees splintered and yet there are always new roots and sprouts, life perpetuated again and again. The grass is damp under their footsteps.

Ragar gazes upon the well worn and well remembered scene wistfully. “Frankenstein, are you...happy?”

Frankenstein scoffs, taken aback by the question. “Am I happy? About what, all of a sudden?”

“Sir Raizel makes you happy, that much is clear. But are you content to be here with me? Would you rather return to his side instead? Our usual arrangements, you are not obligated to keep them if you would prefer to be elsewhere.”

Frankenstein’s lips twist in bemusement, and he shoots Ragar a funny sort of look. “The fact that I’m here right now means that I want to be here.” He chuckles airily. “Don’t think that you can get me to do things I’d rather not, Ragar.”

Ragar’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but he quickly relaxes again. “Of course. You are far too...willful to be convinced of things that don’t suit you.”

Again, Frankenstein’s expression quirks in funny ways as he dissects the snideness if Ragar’s remark. He tilts his head forward and lets out a sigh, lips curving up and baring teeth dangerously. “If you’re done being melancholic, let’s begin.” Darkness bursts from the empty air, atomizing molecules, compressing and expanding space as it hisses into Frankenstein’s hand and roars up his arms—a burning cold shot of adrenaline into his very veins.

Ragar surveys him, unwavering. His own soul weapon summon is silent. A mere flicker of shadow and Kartas is in his hands, precise, ghostly, and ready to spill blood.

* * *

Dark red stains the earth, spattered and streaked. Blood and breath are all they can hear and all they can see is each other, if even that. Ragar disappears again.

Kartas is weightless in his hands, but he grips the daggers with bone-bending intensity, his viciousness potent and silent. He reappears only when he clashes with Frankenstein again, blade against blade, soul against soul. Kartas shudders from Dark Spear’s hungering shrill as if it is trying to consume his very soul weapon upon contact; the black mass’s pull is magnetic.

Their eyes are wide, wild, and bright. Frankenstein’s snarl is fanged and animalistic—pure, joyous bloodlust.

Ragar shares a similar excitement. Frankenstein is the first to have challenged him in such a way, and Ragar finds himself wantonly, shamelessly asking for more time and time again.

His arm is caught, burning from Frankenstein’s darkness. He is slammed into the ground with force ridding him momentarily of air, but then he twists around, driving his blade towards Frankenstein’s side, slicing him deeply just before he can step back.

Frankenstein’s bare torso is criss crossed with red wounds. Blood trails over the contours of his muscled form.

Ragar watches him cautiously, now crouched and ready to strike.

They eye each other with eyes alight with something intimate and knowing. Dust billows in their wake.

Ragar’s blade pierces nothing, black shadows dissolving into air in the place where he had thought Frankenstein to be. He turns around just fast enough to face Frankenstein as he is pinned to the ground, black fire licking his limbs, Dark Spear held just a hair’s width from his throat.

They are poised and still, breathing, watching, the roar of blood and heartbeat counting the seconds that pass.

Frankenstein grins sharply.

Ragar wonders what he will do next.

The tip of Dark Spear traces down his neck and cuts a red line down his chest. Then, it disappears—dismissed.

“Are we finished?” Ragar inquires, still prone against the ground, still thrumming with the thrill of battle.

“Hm...” Frankenstein’s eyes are appreciative and playful, an omen for things to come, good or bad. “That depends...”

Ragar blinks, mind working at another one of Frankenstein’s riddles. “What does it—“

He is silenced by lips on his own, mask and breath caught in Frankenstein’s mouth. Ragar’s eyes widen, and he becomes very still. He blinks, confused and curious. Their breathing is heated. The black fabric grows damp. Kartas dissolves into nothingness from his hands.

Frankenstein’s mouth persists until Ragar finds his own lips helplessly parting, and Frankenstein’s tongue dips inside. A little lost, Ragar lets him take the lead. They sigh between each other. A small approving sound slips from him unbidden, and Ragar feels his face heat in slight embarrassment at the lapse in control.

When they finally part, his mask is wet and clings to his chin. He stares at Frankenstein widely.

“Did you like that?”

“Is this a technique to make me lower my defenses, Frankenstein?”

Then it is Frankenstein’s turn to stare. After a beat, he smirks, a touch exasperated. “Well, I suppose that answers the question of if you’ve ever had sex before.” He sighs and sits back on his heels. “I shouldn’t be surprised, really. I’ll show you something fun, Ragar, a human pastime we do with people we’re attracted to. Do you consent?”

Ragar turns the question over in his mind. Then, he firmly nods once.

“You can tell me to stop and I’ll stop at anytime.”

Frankenstein is upon him again, lifting up Ragar’s shirt and tracing his body with warm, broad hands. The sensation is new and intrusive and overwhelming. Nobles touch so rarely, and here is Frankenstein, straddling him, running hands and fingers over him, skin to skin. Blood smears under his palm.

“Let’s take this off...” Frankenstein murmurs and slips his hands under Ragar’s black coat to shed it off for him. It gets discarded to the side.

Their mouths meet again. It is less strange the second time, and Ragar readily parts his lips for him, though he wonders if that is the correct way to proceed. Given that Frankenstein has not chastised him for it, he concludes that it is. They swallow each other more greedily than the first time, the heat and fervor of battle still fresh in their bodies.

Ragar intakes air sharply with surprise when Frankenstein’s hand roughly gropes between his thighs. His other hand kneads and drags nails across his skin. Then, Frankenstein’s mouth is on his jaw then his neck. When he bites, Ragar’s eyes flash wide open and his face becomes rosy. His heart leaps into his throat but calms when he realizes that Frankenstein has not broken skin and taken his blood into his mouth.

“Frankenstein...what am I...How am I supposed to feel?”

“Hm...” He lifts his head and looks down at Ragar, measured and confident. “Good, ultimately.” His gaze sharpens—eagle eyes of prey. He reaches for Ragar’s belt and pants. They are swiftly undone and join the long coat to the side.

Ragar reaches for his mask. "This is...“ His prideful state of dress has been undone.

“Do you want to stop?”

“...No.”

Frankenstein nods. And then he sinks down, setting Ragar's legs over his shoulders. He takes Ragar into his mouth.

"Oh..."

Frankenstein hums deep in his throat. His mouth is hot, wet, and devious.

Ragar blinks again and again, his breathing becoming short, bewilderment morphing his expression as a warm flush ignites his face. "I feel...good," he tells him.

Approval glints in Frankenstein's eyes.

When Frankenstein finally pulls off of him, slick trails from his lips. He wets his hand as he strokes Ragar's length briefly before dragging that wetness down to his ass. Carefully, he presses inside.

Ragar stiffens, the sensation foreign to him.

"Again, tell me if you ever want to stop," Frankenstein reminds him and then slips another finger inside, working him and pressing against him. His other hand distracts Ragar's cock, which twitches cutely in his grasp.

"Mm..." Something about the constant pressure within makes him buck, and Ragar finds his hips twitching before he realizes the slip in his control. When Frankenstein shoves in a third and then a fourth digit, Ragar's expression becomes destraught, his core scrambling and aching, but he does not tell Frankenstein to stop. Instead, he lets out a long sigh as his useless hands wander to touch Frankenstein’s shoulders for a bit of grounding, a motion that Frankenstein notices with a haughty smile.

There is some shuffling as Frankenstein withdraws, leaving Ragar empty and clenching, as he loosens his own trousers.

Their hips meet. Ragar gasps, breath caught in his throat, as Frankenstein sinks into him. He feels himself tighten around the sudden hard length and hangs on futilely to his mask. Ragar presses his lips tightly together, biting off an embarrassing sound, taking in new pleasure that overwhelms him.

Frankenstein ruts against him a few times, easy and slow. “Are you still feeling good?” he asks sincerely.

Ragar breathes, in and out, consciously steadying himself. He swallows and nods.

Frankenstein grins. “Good.”

* * *

Their pace is fast and brutal, worked into a heated, panting frenzy, much like battle. The sheer force of Frankenstein’s passions intoxicates Ragar, making him want to press them closer and harder together. Frankenstein scorches him, challenges him, and thrills him like none other before.

Ragar grasps at the folds of his shirt with one hand; the other flies to his mask, pulling it up self consciously as he feels a peculiar tight coil in his core. His legs shift hastily so that a jerk of his heel lands on Frankenstein's back, but despite his squirming, his friend shows no signs of slowing down. The cool dew of the grass against his back contrasts the heat overcoming him. "Frankenstein, I feel—I feel..." Ragar's eyes are wide as he processes the novel, rapidly building sensations that threaten his once careful composure. His belly clenches; his hips twitch.

Frankenstein's lips lift in a smirk. Clearly happy with the development as his maddening hand continues to work at Ragar’s cock and as he brings him closer and closer to the edge each time he drives into him. "You're about to cum." He huffs in amusement. "Go ahead. Let it happen."

Placing his trust in him, Ragar quietly nods and focuses on the sheer elation of his body, welcoming it, chasing it, submitting himself to it and, for a moment, forgoing his pride. Suddenly, he finds himself gasping. His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, he curls towards Frankenstein and reaches out to grasp at his shoulders, stilling them both as fingernails carve red crescents into Frankenstein’s skin. A shudder runs through him, then another, and the rest of the world retreats.

A low groan rumbles in Frankenstein’s throat as he pulls them closer. "I can feel you convulse around me, Ragar," he observes with a note of mirth.

When Ragar’s eyes blink open again, he observes the wetness spattered over his stomach and thighs, and a high flush colors his face again. “I am...undignified,” he reports, his voice worn and soft. His chest rises and falls in the aftermath.

Frankenstein’s expression creases. “Don’t be so formal.” He sighs and slips out of Ragar. “Look, I’m going to cum as well.” His hand slides over both of their cocks as he grinds against Ragar’s length. Sighing heavily, he lowers his head and further dapples his friend in wet and white.

They are tangled in each other and motionless under the shade of the tree. Their breathing steadies after a while as they bask in mutual peace.

Ragar pulls at his mask. “Again.”

“Hm?” Frankenstein looks up at him.

“Make me cum again, Frankenstein."

Frankenstein’s mouth falls open as if to make a quip, but, dumbly, no words come to him. He blinks at Ragar, baffled and admittedly impressed. But, after a moment, he composes himself enough to smile with characteristic wickedness.

“Well, if you _insist_.”

* * *

The sky darkens. Languidly, Ragar leans back against the rough bark of the tree, his legs a tad unsteady and his thighs obscenely slicked. His arms are draped over Frankenstein’s shoulders as warm breath and teeth graze his ear and neck. The noble sighs as he aquaints himself with the pleasant, easy fatigue that makes his eyelids and his limbs slow and heavy.

He hears a soft, breathy chuckle. “Are you happy?” Frankenstein asks, coy and teasing.

Ragar answers with complete honesty. “I am.”

They lean and breath against each other. But then, abruptly, Frankenstein straightens, his expression as flat and white as ice, post-coital lethargy dashed away and replaced with pale dread. “Master’s supper——I’m late.”

“Ah—“

Frankenstein is gone before Ragar can comment further, and he is left alone in the woods, half dressed and dirty.

He stares up through the leaves, watching the reds, oranges, and pinks of the sunset bleed into the blue of the sky. Then, Ragar sighs and bends down to pick his pants up from the ground.

* * *

As is usual, the two clan leaders walk side by side between the arcade arches leading to the Lord’s throne room. Rather candidly, Ragar offers by way of conversation, "I have learned many things from Frankenstein and our battles over the years."

Gejutel glances at him. "Ah, yes, you sparred with him yesterday, did you not?"

He nods. "It was an enlightening encounter." Ragar turns to Gejutel with eager eyes, barely containing his unasked request for Gejutel to inquire further about his educational endeavors with the human.

A touch hesitantly but very politely, Gejutel complies. "And what were you enlightened about this time?"

"Sex."

"I—" Gejutel stops in his tracks, as if his universe has come to a screeching halt. He turns fully to look at Ragar, who at the moment looks contentedly proud of himself, arms crossed squarely and expression wisened. Gejutel clears his throat and continues walking, his world and his mind turning again, his coat swaying behind him. "I see."

"Were you aware that humans performed such acts, Gejutel?"

"I am...aware."

Ragar's expression brightens further at this, appearing thoroughly impressed. Then, he shares that, "I will request Frankenstein's aid again tomorrow."

Some silence passes between them, in which Gejutel's expression becomes severe in thought. Cool shadows pass periodically over their faces as they walk.

"Congratulations, Ragar...I suppose."


End file.
